


Only the Good Die Young

by jacesmangoes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Child Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Minor Character Death, Multi, Plot Driven, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacesmangoes/pseuds/jacesmangoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's just about 99% done with everything. His family, his friends, his school... Until he's partnered with Castiel for a devil of a chemistry-midterm and learns that his problems aren't the worst out there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scumbag Friends and Chemistry Midterms

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is my first long, plot-based fic ever! I'm going to try to update every week, but we'll see how it goes. I'm warning you in advance, this isn't going to be the happiest Destiel fic you've ever read, and there will be lots of angst and emotional stuff. There will also be fluff, but Dean/Cas as a romantic pairing doesn't really show up until near the end of the fic. There are lots of feelings, but they don't really get sorted out for a while. There will be messed-up situations, so if you're not willing to deal with that then please don't read this. I don't want to offend anyone. So if all of this is still okay with you, then please, read on!

Dean taps his pencil against the notebook lying on his desk. The teacher has been speaking for some time now, but he hasn't paid enough attention to make decent notes. All his page contains is the scribbled AC/DC logo up and down its margin, and the date in the right hand corner. Nothing about cellular respiration like it should, but Dean figures he can find at least one girl who will be willing to let him copy her notes.

"And what is the answer, Mr. Winchester?"

Dean doesn't glance up. He knows that the teacher is staring at him, that the whole class is staring at him, waiting for a response, but to be realistic Dean doesn't really care. He leans back in his chair, eyes drooped, arms crossed.

"No idea," he says, shifting in his chair to rest his hands behind his head.

There are a few giggles from the back of the room, but by March the class has grown used to Dean's no-shits-given attitude and ignore him for the most part. Just the way he likes it.

The teacher rolls her eyes, not keen on dealing with another careless student.

"Mr. Winchester, I don't get paid by the student, so if you have no interest in being in my class then you are free to leave."

Now he can feel the stares of everyone in the room on him, because this is new. Even those few who prefer to ignore class drama have turned their attention to Dean and whether or not he'll buckle under this abnormal threat.

"As much as I'd love to leave right now," he begins, sitting up from his relaxed position to look the woman in the eye, "if I dropped out, the only other course I could be taking is history of literature, and I’m sure it would be great to read about the love triangle between Jane Austen and Shakespeare or whatever, but I'd rather be sitting here. You're a nice view from behind, Lydia," he calls to the girl in front of him.

She shoots him a disgusted glare, but he can't help smirking at the red blush that creeps across her face.

The bell rings twice to signal the beginning of lunch break, and Dean's uprising is immediately forgotten. The students rush from their desks in a whirl of papers and hurried voices. Dean moves to get up from his chair, but Dr. Visyak's questioning face is in front of him before he can fully stand.

"I may not be able to force you to leave my class, but I can make you stay. I expect to see you in detention after last period today, Mr. Winchester."

Dean grins. "Mr. Winchester was my father. Please, call me Dean."

Dr. Visyak rolls her eyes and returns to her desk to clean up the mess of papers that are the classes opening lab reports. Of course Dean's isn't in the pile, the assignment long forgotten at the bottom of his messenger bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, Dean tucks his pencil in the binding of his notebook and strides to the door, stopping in the frame for only a moment.

"See you later, Eleanor," he purrs, winking at the woman and sliding out of the classroom before she can even respond.

Gabriel is waiting for him when Dean gets to his locker, the lanky, hazel-eyed teenager munching on a Mars bar as he leans against the blue and yellow mosaic on the wall.

“You’re forty-two seconds late! What took you so long?" he asks sarcastically, peeling back the wrapper another inch, "Obviously not staying back for extra credit."

Dean grins and enters the combination into his lock, swinging the door open. He throws his books into the back corner, not to be seen until this time tomorrow; the homework is never worth doing.

"Got detention after school with Eleanor," he answers, tone thick with disinterest, "because Dean Winchester has nothing better to do than spend time with his teachers on a Friday."

Gabriel snorts and elbows him in the arm.

“Well you better not be spending too much time there. I still need a ride down to the lake this weekend and I will _not_ be asking Jo.”

Dean raises an eyebrow as he grabs his jacket from the back of his locker. Slinging it over his shoulder, he closes the door and locks it shut, nodding towards the end of the hall.

“Speak of the devil...”

Gabriel looks over just in time to see Jo coming down the hall, her blonde locks bouncing at her shoulders. Her face wears a confident smirk, brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Hello ladies,” she beams, tossing her bag to the floor at Gabriel’s feet and reaching up to the top row of lockers.

“Jo,” Dean grins, noticing the way Gabriel can’t seem to take his eyes off of her as she moves.

She grabs a leather jacket from the hook at the back and pulls it on over her red and black plaid shirt. Jo flips her hair behind her shoulder and, when she catches Gabriel staring, pokes her tongue out at him. He winks back and takes another bite of his Mars bar.

“So,” Jo says, picking up her backpack and turning towards Dean, “why am I the devil today?”

Dean smirks. “It’s not just today,” he says smugly. He reaches out to ruffle Jo’s hair, but she ducks out of his way and laughs when he trips forward and bashes his head into Gabriel’s locker. Gabriel just gives her a condescending look and gulps down the last of his chocolate, tossing the wrapper away.

“Well since Dean has to be back in time for his rendezvous with the short blonde in 201, we better get going. I’m starved.”

“Is there ever a time that you’re not hungry?” Jo asks irritably.

Dean chuckles and shakes his head, walking between the quarrelers in the direction of the door. His two best friends are always at each others throats, and it’s usually up to him to regulate their heated debates. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to do so much work to keep their group together, but then again, isn’t that what made it so worthwhile? Dean sure thought so.

As they walk out the door of Lawrence High School, Gabriel makes a comment about his hunger being better than Jo’s thirst, and Jo kicks him in the shin for the subtext. Dean chooses to ignore this particular argument, for no reason other than the fact that it’s his lunch break and he wants to enjoy it before being trapped in a classroom for another two hours.

“So where to?” he asks when the come to the crosswalk and have to wait for the light to turn green.

Gabriel moves to suggest what Dean assumes will be either Starbucks or the ice cream parlour, but Jo promptly cuts him off in favour of the pizza place thats only five minutes away.

“They have this new spinach thing I’ve wanted to try. Cool with you Dean?”

“I don’t see why not--”

“The ice cream parlour also makes pie,” Gabriel adds.

Dean’s attention is spiked. His stomach rumbles and he can feel his mouth already beginning to water.

“Did you say pie?”

Gabriel grins, knowing he’s won. Jo scowls.

“Pie indeed. Apple.”

Dean swallows hard and gives Jo a desperate look.

“Pie,” he whines.

Jo huffs and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Pie it is.”

Dean beams and kisses her on the cheek, nearly jumping onto the street in excitement when the light turns green.

“You’re awesome.”

Jo rolls her eyes again, but the hints of a smile creep across her face and she gives in.

“I know.”

***

“You son of a bitch.”

Dean folds his arms over his chest irritably, his green eyes shooting daggers at Gabriel, who licks his three scoops of double chocolate ice cream contently. Jo shoots him a condescending look, but he ignores it.

“So I lied about the pie,” Gabriel drawls, “but can you blame me? This ice cream is delicious.”

Dean scowls.

“I will kill your family.”

“Can we just go?” Jo interrupts, “we can still go get pizza, it’s only a five minute walk.”

Dean nods, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. Jo stands with him and heads out the door without giving Gabriel a second glance. Dean, however, makes his exit slow and lingering, his eyes never leaving Gabriel’s.

“You think this was a joke, but you’ll be--”

“Ouch! Hey!”

Dean stumbles on his words as he backs into something behind him. Not just something, someone. He whips around to find himself face to face with a pair of dark blue eyes. Dean jumps and steps back a couple of feet.

“Sorry man, didn’t see you there,” Dean mumbles apologetically before shoving his hands in his pockets and rushing out the door. Gabriel's taunting laughter echoes in the shop behind him before the door closes.

A little shaken, Dean takes slightly longer than usual catching up to Jo. His mind plays the incident over again in his head, and Dean feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment. What the hell is wrong with him? Can’t he even walk straight today? He lets out a shaky breath and skips ahead a few steps to fall into line with Jo.

“Hey,” Jo sighs, “what’s with the hold up?”

“Bumped into some guy. No big deal.”

“Hm.” Jo says nothing more, making it clear that they both want to walk in silence. As one picks up on the other’s rhythm, their steps synchronize and they walk together down the block without a word. Dean glances around downtown Lawrence, noting that it’s strangely cold for mid-March. He adjusts the green military style jacket across his chest, covering up the corded necklace that rests over his shirt.

When they arrive at the pizza shop, Jo skips a few steps ahead of Dean to open the door for him.

“I would say ladies first, but I’m out of money and need you to buy me a slice of pizza. Be a gentleman, Dean?”

Dean gives her a complacent grin and steps through the door in front of her.

“Gentleman. We’ll see.”

After a few more obviously sarcastic compliments, Dean does buy Jo a slice of pepperoni pizza and a root beer, getting the same for himself minus the drink. They sit down in a tiny booth in the corner under a picture of some race car driver holding his helmet and a trophy in front of a finish line. Jo cracks open the can, cursing when fizz bubbles over the top and spills on her paper plate. They eat for a few minutes, the hot cheese burning the insides of both of their mouths.

Dean is about to start up a conversation about how he might avoid detention after school when the bell to the shop door jingles and a man in a grey v-neck and black blazer steps inside. The cool winter breeze blows in with him, setting the atmosphere perfectly for his personality.

_Balthazar,_ Dean thinks bitterly.

As if he can hear Dean’s thoughts, Balthazar turns his head around and, when his sights land on the off-blonde in the back of the restaurant, smiles sadistically.

Dean hides his face by turning towards the wall and clenches his jaw. He can hear Balthazar’s steps coming increasingly closer to the table.

“Don’t talk to him,” he says to Jo, who obviously won’t listen. She was always stubborn.

“Who the hell do you think you are, coming around here?” she asks, her hand curling into a fist under the table. Balthazar chuckles, one hand in his pocket, the other reaching out to lean against the table.

“Look, Joanna, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here to speak to your friend.”

“Bullshit.”

Dean feels the rush of air as Jo spins to look at him. He knows he shouldn’t provoke Balthazar any more than he already has, but it’s just not in his nature to hold back in a fight. And Balthazar knows it.

“Dean, Dean, Dean. Don’t you have something better to be doing right now? Last I heard from a friend of mine, you’d been selling your soul to pay off a debt...”

Dean sucks in a breath through his teeth. He turns to look Balthazar in the eyes, feeling Jo’s warning stare burning into his skull. He should hold back. Should, but won’t.

“I’m not dealing with Crowley anymore. End of story. Now leave before things get messy.”

“Well that’s not what I heard. Crowley told me that--”

“You can tell Crowley to suck it. I’m done with his shit and I’m not going back.”

At this point, Dean is standing at the end of the booth, his face inches away from Balthazar’s, the tension between them thick in the air. Sure, Crowley has his hooks deep in Dean, but his stupid little messenger boy isn’t going to phase him one bit. He already has detention when he should be getting in hours at the garage. Dean doesn’t need this added onto it.

Balthazar’s smile doesn’t falter, but anyone could see the resentment that creeps into his misty eyes.

“Well I guess he’ll be seeing you around then,” he spits, spinning and walking out the door before Dean can reply. The cashier behind the counter gives their table a strange look before returning to his business.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Jo sighs.

“Good,” Dean doesn’t want to hear anymore about Crowley for a while now.

“Let’s just go find Gabriel.”

***

If there’s one thing Dean hates more than a mid-lunch faceoff with Balthazar, it’s fifth period chemistry. It’s bad enough that Dr. Gaines (ok, does every teacher in this school have a PhD?) is a total douchewad, but the fact that his mid-term projects take almost a month and a half to complete is just about enough to make Dean fantasize about jumping off a bridge.

As Dr. Gaines drones on about the importance of proper format for this _very_ important project, Dean feels Tessa nudge his arm from the desk to his right. He looks over to her, but she’s staring straight ahead at the board.

_Discreet, as always,_ Dean thinks to himself, scanning his desk for the piece of paper she must have slipped him.

Though she doesn’t seem to care much in the eyes of others, Tessa is actually one of the smartest girls that Dean knows. He swears she knows everything about everything, and she’s probably already got Gaines’ midterm planned and half-finished. Behind all the eyeliner and ripped leggings, the girl really does have some brains.

Folding open the crumpled sticky note, Dean reads the message scrawled in Tessa’s perfect handwriting.

**She’s meeting my parents tonight. Freaking out.**

Dean sighs and searches his pockets for a pen to write a message back. He assumes that the “she” Tessa is talking about is probably Charlie.

Charlie is the quirky, dorky, LARPing-obsessed and way-too-hot-to-be-a-nerd girl that works with Dean at the garage. She also happens to be Tessa’s girlfriend. Charlie and Dean are great friends now, but they hadn’t always been. When she first started working at the garage two years ago, she hated Dean. The two of them were always fighting to get the first crack at all of the clueless (and hot) girls bringing their cars in to be fixed. It was usually Dean that ended up with them, but Charlie scored a few herself.

They were rivals for the first five months of Charlie working there, but eventually they bonded over their love of Star Trek and strange kinks. (To this day Dean still doesn’t understand how Charlie found out about the lacey underwear, but he’s not even sure he wants to know.)

When Tessa had come by the garage to help Dean with his chemistry work at the beginning of the semester, she and Charlie had hit it off instantly. Sadly, Charlie was homeschooled and lived on the opposite side of the town from Tessa. Therefore, they had decided that Dean would be their messenger.

Dean quickly jots down his reply and slides the paper over to Tessa’s desk.

**I thought your parents didn’t know you were dating anyone...**

He watches as she unfolds it and gives him a guilty look, signifying that they don’t. Dean raises an eyebrow at her, because he knows her parents and how apple-pie-traditional they are. They’re the kind of people that would ground her for dating anyone outside of their church, never the less dating another girl.

Tessa sighs and writes out another note.

**I love her, Dean, and I didn’t plan on ever telling my parents. At least not until I graduated. Dinner was Charlie’s idea.**

Dean writes back:

**Sounds like her. If your parents don’t like it then screw them. Charlie’s awesome, to hell with what they think.**

Before Tessa can write anything back to him, the bell rings. It’s the end of last period, and Dean groans because that means he has to go back to Dr. Visyak’s classroom for detention.

“And don’t forget that I assign partners on Monday. Do the worksheet!” Gaines calls in an attempt to keep the class in line. But few people are listening; the weekend mentality is just starting to set in. Most people are out of the class before he even finishes his sentence, but Dean sticks behind to wait for Tessa. As usual she has some questions about the lesson, and Dean’s good to take any opportunity to be late for detention.

“Sorry, Dean, it should just be a second…” Tessa says apologetically.

Dean nods in reply, following her up to the teacher’s desk and leaning against the edge of it while he waits for her to finish. He contemplates pulling out his phone to text Gabriel, but he’s still bitter about the pie incident, and he doesn’t want to text Jo because he knows that she’ll want to talk about what happened at lunch.

He’s about to settle for reading the boring science posters making lame jokes about elements and equations (his favorite being “all the good chemistry jokes Argon”) when he notices that he and Tessa aren’t alone in the room.

There’s a person sitting in the front row of the classroom, nearly obscured from view by the projector stand. He’s hunched over his desk, taking notes from the board, Dean assumes. There’s a pair of headphones poking out from his slightly messy brown hair, and Dean’s automatically curious as to what he might be listening to, so he walks over to check.

The boy in the white polo looks up when Dean approaches, looking almost shocked that someone’s walking in his direction. He looks around, seemingly to check for anyone else that Dean could be coming to see. Dean laughs and pulls a chair over to sit next to him.

“Whatcha listening to?”

The boy clicks his phone to display the screen before turning back to his notes. Dean recognizes the album cover and leans back in the chair.

“Angel with a Shotgun? Isn’t that for girls?”

The boy, whose name is Castiel Novak according to his paper, turns to shoot Dean a dirty look.

“If you came over to insult my music then you can go away.” When Dean looks genuinely sorry, Castiel’s expression softens and he sets down his pencil.

“But if you must know, the rest of my playlist isn’t this cheesy.”

Dean grins and goes to say something, only to stop short when he takes a closer look at Castiel’s face. There’s something familiar about his blue eyes that he can’t quite place and…

“Hey, didn’t I run into you earlier at the ice cream parlour?”

Castiel looks confused.

“Um, I don’t believe so. I usually stay here at lunch.”

This earns a frown from Dean, because he’s never seen eyes quite as blue as Castiel’s, and he swears he remembers them from before.

“Dean!” Tessa calls from the door. Dr. Gaines is cleaning the papers off his desk, so he must be done with all the questions. Dean stands up and slings his backpack over his shoulder to join her. He gives Castiel one more look before he shakes his head.

“Catch you later, then.”

When he joins Tessa at the door, he glances back to see Castiel still staring at him, head cocked slightly to the side.

_Weird…_ Dean thinks before following Tessa to her locker.

He doesn’t hang back to chat much because Tessa is already ranting about her dinner and how stressed she is, so with a pat on her back and a quick ‘good luck’, Dean’s (reluctantly) on his way to North 201 for what will probably be the worst hour of his day.

When he walks into the room, Dr. Visyak isn’t there yet. The room is actually entirely empty, save for one desk near the window where a boy with a head of messy brown-black hair is sitting with his head down, either asleep or on his phone. Dean picks a seat at the back but still close to the door so he can quickly escape when his hour is up. Sinking into the hard plastic chair, Dean makes himself as comfortable as he can get and closes his eyes.

At this point, he doesn’t want to think. Not about biology, not about chemistry, not about Tessa and her impossible love life, not about Jo and Gabriel and what the hell is even going on between those two, not about Crowley or Balthazar, not even about Castiel and his strange taste in music or his denial of their meeting. Dean just wants to sit and exist, because too much has happened today for him to wrap his mind around anything specific. Because he’s been doing too much of everything and not enough nothing. And right now, in the quiet and dull atmosphere of Dr. Visyak’s biology room, nothing seems like a pretty great thing to do.


	2. Dinner For Shmucks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! It seems it's going to take me a bit longer to get chapters out, but I swear I'm still working on it! We meet some new characters this chapter, so let me know how you like them!

Dean’s already in a bad mood when he gets home. An hour of detention after a day off too much friend drama doesn’t bode well when paired with the fact that he dinged the corner of his car driving out of the school parking lot. Now there’s a long, white scratch on the driver side door and a miserable scowl on Dean’s face. The last thing he needs when he gets home is more to deal with. 

He storms in the door, heading straight for the basement and closing the door quickly behind him. The air is warm and musty, but who wouldn’t expect that from a basement? Once down the stairs, Dean drops his coat and bag on the couch and flops down on the bed in the corner that’s been his since they left their first house in Lawrence. The mattress is old and worn, but it feels like home. He sinks into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling where his novelty “busty asian beauties” poster hangs. He smirks and closes his eyes, finally ready to relax--

His phone buzzes from it’s place in his back pocket. Dean groans, cracking one eye open in exasperation.

“You’re kidding,” he grumbles, shifting to pull out his piece-of-crap phone (he swears it’s just a chunk of plastic with a satellite plan) and check the screen. He’s expecting Gabriel to be whining about the lack of transportation to the lake, but is instead greeted by a much different picture. 

The screen is illuminated by a photograph of a blonde woman, hair up in a loose bun and sporting a casual purple tank top. Dean smiles at the way her eyes sparkle, that perfect blend of ocean blue and emerald green that he wishes he had himself. With no hesitation whatsoever, Dean accepts the call and presses the phone to his ear.

“Hey, mom,” he answers, slightly too eagerly, and he winces at his desperation. He hasn’t heard from her in far too long, and he’s been waiting for this call for weeks.

“Hi, Dean.”

Her answer is sweet and motherly and full of love and Dean just wants to hug her through the phone, as girly as that sounds. But he misses her, and hasn’t actually seen her in about a month and a half and, well, who could blame him if he gets a little gushy every once in a while?

On the other end, he can hear someone talking, possibly the television. Knowing the time of day, she’s probably home alone watching her shows. Dean can just picture her, sitting on the couch wrapped up in that red floral blanket she loves so much, laughing along with the studio audience on those corny little sitcoms that she just can’t get enough of.

When Dean realizes that he hasn’t said anything for a good ten seconds, he clears his throat (mostly to rid himself of all the chick flick type thoughts).

“So, what’s up?”

He can hear Mary’s laugh, light and happy, as if she were in the room there with him.

“I was thinking today that I hadn’t seen you in too long.”

“Damn straight,” Dean says immediately. 

“And I wanted to have you and your brother over for dinner before spring break.”

Dean freezes. There are two sides to the situation. The first being that Dean really, _really_ wants to see his mother. A home cooked meal sounds like heaven after all the takeout and TV dinners that they get over at Dad’s. But the other (far less appealing, if you ask Dean) side is that Axel will be there. Mom’s asshole of a husband who can’t get enough of grumbling about Dean and acting like the Winchester boys are some kind of lab experiment gone wrong, like they’re not his sons-in-law or anything.

“Mom--”

Mary cuts him off before he can object. 

“Dean, before you say anything, I know you and Axel don’t get along,” at this, Dean huffs in agreement, “and I kept that in mind. He’s off fishing with his nephew next weekend, and I have some free time from work. If you and Sam wouldn't mind dropping by for a bite…”

The smile that spreads across Dean’s face is so big it’s almost cartoon-like, but he just doesn’t give a damn.

“Yeah, sure Mom. That sounds awesome.”

“Great,” Mary replies, pausing to jot down the plans, “I’ll see you boys next week, then.”

Dean nods, and even though Mary can’t see him, Dean’s sure she knows that he did.

“I love you Dean. Tell Sam I say hello.”

“Will do,” Dean says before ending the call with a grin wider than the entire state of Kansas. 

Hands shaking in anticipation, he shoves the phone in his pocket and snaps up his discarded jacket. Throwing it over his shoulder, he bounds right up the stairs and into the kitchen. He knows that if he wants to go to his Mom’s that his Dad will have to approve first. Which won't be easy unless Dean has the advantage of good food on his side. Sliding on his socks across the tile and nearly bumping into the table, Dean yanks open the fridge and takes inventory on what he has. 

_Cheese, lettuce, condiments, tomatoes, pickles…_

But no beef. He sighs. Literally everything else he needs to make his classic burgers but the actual meat itself. Predictable. Still in quite the antsy mood, Dean spins on his heels and grabs his keys off of the shelf, scribbling a quick note of explanation to Sam and jogging out the front door to the Impala parked on the driveway. He grimaces at the blemish on the door as he opens it, noting to himself to sand it off at Bobby’s when he goes to work later that day. 

Dean digs the key into the ignition, smiling even wider as the purr of his baby’s engine fills up the previously silent car. Soon “Hey Jude” by the Beatles is chiming in from his analog radio, and he’s cruising down Lawrence’s main street to get to the grocery store. 

There’s nowhere else Dean would rather be than inside his car, the smell of old leather mixed with fresh air coming in through the open window. He lets the breeze take over, and instantly all of the stress of the day is gone; it’s just him and his car and the not so open (actually slightly crowded) road. 

***

 

Standing in the checkout line at the Walmart supercentre, Dean wonders to himself when the hell ground beef got so freaking expensive. He could have sworn that just the other week he could buy a pound for three bucks, no more no less. 

“This five dollar shit better be worth it…” he mumbles under his breath, rifling through his wallet to find the bill he knows is lurking in there somewhere. 

He’s still searching for the money when his items roll up to the register.

“That’ll be five sixty,” the cashier announces, in a gruff voice that Dean finds immediately to be familiar. Snapping his head up from his nearly empty walled, he comes face to face with piercing blue eye’s for about the third time in twelve hours. 

“Well would you look at that,” Dean grins, pleasantly surprised to have run into this familiar face.

Castiel frowns before raising an eyebrow as he bags the beef. 

Dean's grin falters when the boy replies with “Umm, do I know you?" 

Dean isn’t quite sure whether he’s joking or not. There’s something different about how he’s acting now than back in school, but then again everyone has a different persona at work than in real life, Dean supposes.

“Dude, seriously? We just talked, like, an hour and a half ago.” 

Dean’s starting to get really confused because the look of bewilderment on the guy’s face is totally authentic, and unless he has some memory disorder, or an evil twin, then-- 

And that’s when it occurs to Dean to look down at the nametag. Sure enough, printed in black ink on a blue background, is the name Jimmy Novak. Not Castiel, the chick music enthusiast, but Jimmy, the cashier at Walmart. Probably the same guy he ran into at the ice cream parlour earlier that day, too. And wow, that explains why Castiel denied seeing him at lunch. Smart, Dean, real smart. 

“Sorry dude,” Dean sighs, finally finding the fiver he’s been searching for and handing it to Jimmy with some change, “I thought you were your brother.”

A look of clarity washed over Jimmy Novak’s face, and he nods understandingly as he hands Dean the bags and his receipt, ripped slightly at the bottom but Dean doesn’t mind. 

“Yeah that happens a lot, having a twin.” 

Jimmy looks down to the end of his aisle, and when he sees he has no more customers to help, he leans against the counter and continues speaking to Dean. 

“So you know my brother, how exactly?” 

“Fifth period Chem.” 

Dean would say more, but he’s totally hung up on exactly how similar Jimmy is to his brother. Sure, they’re twins and all, but usually there’s some telltale difference, like a freckle, or the shape of their eyebrows. But these twins are nearly identical. From the light shadow of stubble on their jaws that most seniors like to have nowadays, right down to the low lidded misty blue eyes that still scare Dean a little with their intensity. 

Jimmy seems more outgoing than Castiel does, though, seeing as he willingly prolonged the conversation where Castiel tried to avoid it and bury himself in his music and work. Identical must only be skin deep in this situation, Dean thinks.

“No offence,” Jimmy says, raising an eyebrow and sporting an amused grin, “but you don’t exactly seem like the type to be taking university level chemistry.”

Dean scoffs because he’s not. He’s shit at chemistry, and he’s not even surprised that it’s obvious.

“I’m not. My mom wanted me to take it, and, well… long story. Point is I’m no Bill Nye.” 

Jimmy grins, but sighs disappointedly when a woman with a cart full to the brim pulls up next to his register. 

“I’ve got work to do, but I guess I’ll see you around… um… what was it again?” 

“Dean,” he replies, “Dean Winchester.”

“Right. See you around then, Dean.”

Dean nods and gives a brief wave as he walks out the door, but Jimmy’s already attending to his new customer and doesn’t see. Dean likes the guy, he decides, and makes a mental note to say something if he sees him around school. It’s not everyday that you meet someone in Lawrence that isn’t either an asshole or a snob.

_Or someone who doesn’t know about my deal…_ Dean thinks, ever the pessimist. 

But all that drama is in his past now, and he’s not going to let it cloud his mind while he needs to be focused on buttering up his dad for this very important conversation. He spends the drive home getting in a positive mindset (easy to do when his favourite song is playing on the radio). 

When he finally pulls into the driveway, Sam’s black Charger is parked on the right side. Dean stations his Impala right next to it, waiting to turn off his engine until the Led Zeppelin song ends, absentmindedly tapping his finger against the steering wheel to the beat of the drums.

_Ramble on, and now’s the time, the time it now to sing my song…_

A fist pounds on the drivers side window, and Dean jumps so high in his seat that his head nearly hits the roof. A lumbering shadow blocks the light from coming into the car, and Dean groans, rolling down the window. 

“What do you want, Sammy?”

The figure bends down to poke his head through the window, a mess of long, bronze hair falling across his face. He swipes his hand across his face to brush it away, clumsy limbs coming close to swatting Dean in the face as he does. 

“You’re late,” Sam grumbles, obviously irritated.

Dean takes the key out of the ignition and motions for Sam to move away from the door. He does, and Dean swings it open, stepping out to stand face to face (or rather face to mid neck, Dean sort of has to look up to see his brother, not that he likes to admit it) with Sam. 

“Late for what?” he asks, locking his car and setting off with the ground beef to the front door.

Sam sighs. “You really forgot, huh?” 

Dean shrugs. 

“Ruby’s here for dinner! Come on, Dean, I’ve been reminding you about this all week!” 

Dean stops in his tracks, right in front of the door, his back facing Sam. 

Ruby. The absolute last person he wants to see right now. Sure, he knew she was coming over for about three weeks now (Sam wouldn’t shut up about it), but it must have slipped his mind sometime in the past few days because he is not prepared to see that bitch after everything. Sure, she’s Sam’s girlfriend, and he’s gotta be supportive for his little brother, but he can’t help it if the girl brings back bad memories. Sam knows exactly what Dean’s been through with her, and bringing her into their house, with their _dad_ , well, to say the least it’s not exactly going to be Dinner with the Millers. 

“Right. I knew that,” Dean says, slowly regaining his composure. He knows Sam won’t buy the calm act in the least, but he’s still going to put it on anyways. It’s better than the alternative. 

“Dean, come on, she’s really--” 

“Yeah, yeah, _important to me and I would really appreciate the approval_ ,” Dean mimics Sam’s words from earlier that month, using air quotes and the whole nine yards. He’s heard it all before, but that doesn’t make him any more inclined to be happy about it. 

Sam, finally giving in apparently, just sighs and takes the key out of Dean’s hand to unlock the door. He steps inside without another word, and Dean follows quietly. He heads straight for the kitchen to set down the meat, relieved when there’s no one else in the room to confront him. Ruby’s probably upstairs in Sam’s room, and his dad, well, if he’s home at all he’s probably in the garage. 

Pleased with the solitude, Dean settles into his regular routine of preparing the kitchen to cook. Food has been Dean’s escape for as long as he can remember. These burgers are one of his favourite recipes mostly because Mary taught him how to make them. One of his earliest memories is squishing up the ground beef into patties in their old house in the suburbs. He can still hear the way his mother laughed when he somehow managed to get the stuff on the tip of his nose.

Sure, his meat-molding technique has been somewhat refined over the years, but Dean makes sure that everything else stays exactly the same. They remind him of home, of a time before everything was so fucked up. 

Shaping each burger into a perfect oval, Dean lays them side by side on the tray and turns on the burner on the stove. It’ll take a minute for it to heat up before he can start cooking, so he rinses his hands in the sink and sits down at the table with his phone. There’s one unread message, from one Charlie Bradbury. Dean smirks, knowing that she’s in a family dinner situation just as uncomfortable as the one he’s in now. 

**hiding in the bathroom at tessas. if you come in thru the window, i might still b able to escape. hurry, obi wan.**  

Dean grins at Charlie’s frantic text. He can just picture her on the floor of Tessa’s bathroom, curled up in a ball, one hand playing nervously with her fiery red hair, the other desperately scrolling through the Star Wars tag on Tumblr. 

The timer on the stove goes off to signal that the temperature has reached its goal, and Dean sends back a quick text as he heads over to the counter.

**cant. the queen bitch is over 4 dinner with sam. im praying for ya.**

Dean sets the phone down beside him, grabbing his spatula and the spices from the cabinet beside him. Before he can even season the first burger, a second text from Charlie lights up the screen. He glances down at it, still rubbing his secret blend of flavours into the pan. 

**demon chick is better than homophobic parents. i think one of them is trying to exorcise me from under the table.. O.o**  

Dean laughs out loud at her text, picturing Tessa’s mother in her elegant pant suit clutching a rosary and mumbling in latin at the girl in the Scott Pilgrim t-shirt. Knowing she’s probably having a tough time, Dean risks burning the meal and quickly dials Charlie’s number, putting her on speakerphone before returning to his cooking. Luckily, the burgers are spared, and Charlie picks up right away, clearly panicking. 

“Mayday. This is a code red situation. Winchester, do you copy?” 

He chuckles, hearing the sound of running water in the background of the call, signalling that Charlie really is hiding out in the washroom. He laughs to himself and flips the burger over.

“Cool it, Charlie. What’s going on?” 

She takes a deep breath over the line before responding. 

“Her mom hates me. She won’t even acknowledge that I’m there. Just keeps talking to Tessa about her grades, and asking her if the boys at school are cute. The _boys_ Dean! I’m literally in the room, and she’s trying to set her daughter up with other people!” 

Dean grimaces. “And her dad?” 

“Even worse. He just keeps staring at me. It’s like he’s trying to suck out my soul or something. He hasn’t said a word all night. I seriously think if he and I are ever alone in a room, he’ll probably turn into a dementor and go all ‘kiss of death’ on me. Oh god, I think it just got colder in here. Did it just get colder in here?!?” 

There’s a rustling on the other end, followed by a long period of silence. Dean listens as there are hushed whispers, presumably between Charlie and Tessa, who must have gathered up the courage to go and see what’s wrong. 

Dean waits patiently for them to finish, and Charlie better damn appreciate how attentive he’s being. Maybe all this friend stuff will pay off someday and she’ll help him out when he needs to escape the bathroom of some clingy girl. Shivering at the thought, Dean plates the piping hot sliders and heads to the fridge to grab the condiments and set them on the table. 

It’s another minute of alternating chatter and silence before Dean hears a sob on the other line. It’s followed by the slam of a door, and then, finally, Charlie’s muffled voice. 

“I need to go, Dean. Good luck with your dinner. Hope the bitch doesn’t skin you alive.” 

The joke is meant to lighten the mood, but their years of friendship mean that Dean can tell that Charlie’s on the verge of crying, and the attempt at Ruby-related humour doesn’t mask the fact that she’s devastated at whatever’s just happened. 

_Damn girls and their emotional shit._

“Charlie, wait--” Dean tries to help, but he’s cut off by her voice, harsher and sharper this time. 

“ _Dean_. I just want to be alone…” there’s a pause and another suppressed sob, and then “please.” 

The last word is so completely broken, the usually spirited girl’s voice cracking on the one syllable. Eyebrows creasing together in worry, Dean swallows hard, picking up the phone and holding it to his ear. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, Charlie… Call me as soon as you need to talk.” 

The girl lets out a shaky breath.

“I love you.”

Dean smiles sadly.

“I know.” 

The dial tone rings on the other end like a church bell at a funeral. It reeks of endings. Dean doesn’t want to think about what exactly went down at Tessa’s house, but he has a pretty good idea that it didn’t end well for the someone's relationship. A twinge of guilt pangs in Dean’s chest, although he’s not sure what it’s for. It’s not like he did anything to cause whatever went down, but still…Damn this day just keeps getting worse. 

He’s done cooking, and as he pulls out a bag of buns from the bread cupboard, the door to the garage swings open. Immediately, Dean tenses, his posture straightening instinctually from years of training as he senses his dad walk into the room. He can tell from the jingle of keys and the click of metal on plastic that John is still in his work uniform, the usual navy blue pants and flannel shirt that designate the members of the Lawrence police department. 

Placing a burger in each bun, Dean slides the meal onto a large plate and turns to face his father. The older man has taken a seat at the end of the table farthest from his son, and has both feet up on the wooden surface sporting a sly grin. 

“Careful, Dean, spend any more time in the kitchen and you’ll grow a pair of round ones,” he chuckles, gesturing to his chest. John's face plays it off as a joke, but his eyes and the tone of his deep voice are swelling with disapproval. A parent scolding his wayward child. 

Dean easily transfers his feelings of guilt to irritation, because frankly it’s a lot more manageable to be pissed off as his brute of a father than to feel bad about a relationship that he’s not even a part of. Because that is totally a girly thing to do. He grits his teeth and sets the food down on the table.

“Ruby’s over,” he says, and John makes a contemplative noise because he actually likes the chick. It’s unbelievable how Dean’s whole family is totally in love with the girl who essentially made Dean’s last two years of high school a living hell. 

“Look, Dad,” he says, trying his best not to sound confrontational, because that never goes over well with John, and Dean needs him on his good side tonight. John raises an eyebrow, a twinkle of something that looks like amusement sparking in his wolfish hazel eyes. Dean clears his throat.

“So I got a call from Mom today, and--” 

“Mr. Winchester!”

An evilly gleeful voice pierces the silence of the kitchen, and Dean winces, his irritation reaching a level he didn’t even know was possible. There’s a click of high heels as the woman who spoke steps into the room, and Dean can just feel how pleased she is to have interrupted whatever conversation was happening. John beams and stands from his chair, extending a hand to their guest. 

“Ruby, great to see you!” 

Dean groans.

_Jesus fucking christ._


	3. It's Bound to Hit the Fan

Dinner was hell. No, worse than hell.

It’s fifth period chemistry on a dreary Monday, and Dean is actually early. Jo and Gabriel had grown tired of his state of perpetual pissiness and sent him to class, where he’s been sitting for the past fifteen minutes, contemplating whether it would have been better to rip off his own arms than sit through Sam and Ruby’s passion-fest.

The two lovebirds had spent the night looking disgustingly adorable and making far-too-mundane conversation with John, while Dean sat in the middle of it all trying to keep down his burger. Every time he looked over at Sam, his brother was beaming and laughing, and it killed him to know that it was freaking _Ruby_ that made him look like that. Sure, Dean had been friends with Ruby once, but that was a long time ago, before everything had gone to hell with his life. Now all he can do is sit and pray that Sam can take care of himself and not dig his own early grave with this new ‘girlfriend’.

His existential crisis is interrupted by the sound of the door opening with a loud creak, one of the side effects of going to a school that was last rebuilt in the fifties.

Dean looks up from his desk to see a familiar face walk into the chem lab, head down, arms crossed, and earbuds in as they had been yesterday. Castiel walks quickly over to his seat at the front and sits down, and before Dean can even contemplate heading over to see him, a mob of students floods into the room, blocking Dean’s path from several different angles.

He sighs and slumps back down on his chair, groaning collectively with the class when the bell rings and Dr. Gaines strolls in, waving around the list of partners for their midterm. The look of sadistic joy on his face from the way he knows he’ll be torturing his students is kind of amusing to Dean.

“Alright class,” the teacher says, setting down the sheet and waiting a moment for the last few stragglers to walk in and take their seats. Dean’s kind of shocked when Tessa doesn’t show up at all; she’s never been late as long as he’s known her, much less completely absent in one of her most important classes. He makes a note to text her later before Dr. Gaines makes his opening announcement.

“Today is the official first day of midterms!”

There’s a pause where a whoop of excitement is expected from the class, but instead the air is filled with sighs and whispers between friends hoping to be paired together. Dean just kicks his feet back and crosses his fingers that he’ll be paired with some decently hot chick, just for an excuse to go over to her house and ‘study’.

The teacher begins to drone on about the importance of shared work and blah blah blah… Dean tunes out three sentences in, not bothering to listen to any of the lecture. His partner can fill him in later.

About halfway through Gaines’s opening speech, the door makes a second creak, and a girl with brilliant pink hair and a nose piercing trudges into the room; the several keychains dangling from her backpack act as her personal fanfare.

Dr. Gaines turns to look at her, frowning first, then bluntly staring with wide eyes when she walks over and whispers something to him that probably on the the front row could hear. Dean’s interest is now peaked; a new girl in a class he hates right before a project. This could be very good.

Gaines finally nods, and motions over to Dean’s desk. When the girl heads over to him, Dean gives himself an internal fist bump, straightening up for an introduction. The kids in the first row of the class (save for Castiel, who’s still absorbed in his music) are all whispering amongst themselves, occasionally looking back to keep an eye on the action.

_This ought to be good…_ Dean thinks to himself.

When the girl slings her bag to the ground at the desk beside him and flops down without a word, he moves to check her out, running a hand through his sandy hair for good measure.

“Hey, I’m--”

But he stops short when the girl spins to glare at him, with those gleaming hazel eyes that he knows far too well.

From behind the brand new fuchsia fringe that frames her face, Tessa gives Dean a look that tells him he needs to back off for about five seconds of she’s going to lose it. He just nods and looks back to the board, mildly-extremely stunned.

Since when was Tessa going through her scene phase? If this was backlash from what happened with Charlie on Friday, then it was about a hundred and five times worse than Dean had originally thought. Really, what the hell could have happened to make the girl who stuck to basic black tees and jeans everyday want to go out and stick a rod through her nose? Swallowing hard, Dean shakes it off. They’ll be talking this out later for sure.

“Tessa and Alfie,” the teacher calls, motioning for the two to go and sit together.

Tessa gives Dean one last pained look before she uproots herself and shuffles up to the second row to sit with the quiet brunette boy she’s been partnered with.

A few more names go down the list, and Dean can’t help but go over all the possible things that could have gone down in the time that he had been on the phone with Charlie the other night. Tessa’s parents could have ended the dinner early on their own account, kicking Charlie out and forbidding her from ever seeing Tessa again. Or…

Or Tessa could have had enough of her parents insults and broken up with Charlie to end the pain… But that didn’t really sound like the girl he knew. Then again, neither did a hot pink dye job, but he wasn’t really one too think into that too much.

“Mr. Winchester, are you even listening to me?”

Dean glances up in the direction of the voice, finding that it was Dr. Gaines. The older man is staring at him with eyebrows raised, his expression clearly showing that the question was rhetorical.

“No, sir,” he replies, drawing a few half-hearted giggles from the girls in front of him.

“Very well,” the teacher says, gesturing to his right, “you’re paired with Castiel. I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Novak.”

This earns a laugh from the whole class, and Dean can see the way Castiel’s cheeks flush in embarrassment from the attention. Keeping up his disinterested smirk, Dean grabs the handle on his backpack and crosses the class as Dr. Gaines continues with the list of names. As Dean flips down on the chair in the front of the room, his eyes briefly meet Castiel’s before the blue eyed boy snaps his gaze back to the blank paper in front of him. Dean huffs and leans back, arms crossed.

Castiel isn’t the hot girl Dean was hoping for, but he supposes he’ll have to do. He seems decently smart - he wears dress shirts to school, after all - and the extensive notes peeking out of his Chemistry binder suggest that he pays attention, and might actually know a thing or two about the subject. Dean marks those down as pros in his book.

“Hey, Castiel,” he whispers, tugging the boys earbud out so that he glares over at him with those piercing blue eyes.

“What,” the dark haired boy asks, but it’s less of a question and more of a threat. Dean winces in surprise; he hadn’t expected a temper from this one.

“Jeez, I was just going to ask if I could borrow a pencil.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and reaches into his bag, producing said writing utensil and handing it over to his new partner, almost disgustedly. Dean takes it, but not before adding in his two cents.

“Hey man, I know I don’t have the best reputation in this class, but you don’t have to be a dick about it. I’ll actually do some work if I understand what’s going on...”

Castiel’s stare seems to soften instantly when he realizes that he’s not alone in this, and Dean wonders what the hell people are saying to make this kid think so lowly of him. Sighing, he twirls the pencil in his hand and returns his attention to the lecture at the front of the class.

It’s about twelve seconds before he’s interrupted by the other boy again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his low voice even lower as a whisper, “It’s just… I don’t like being taken advantage of.”

Dean huffs in appreciation.

“Yeah man, I know the feeling.”

Castiel nods before returning to his own space, and they both sit in silence for the remainder of the explanation. Dean actually listens for most of it, coming to understand that the project is a mixture of chemical changes and industry & nature. He’s pretty good at the second part, but elements and reactions were never his forte. He hopes Castiel at least knows something about them.

“Alright, get to work,” Gaines says, running a hand through his thinning, grey hair, “I expect a developed thesis from each of you by the end of tomorrow, so you better get cracking.”

He finishes his address and heads back to his desk, where he’ll probably play solitaire for the rest of the period. Dean rolls his eyes.

“So… I had an idea for a thesis if you wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Castiel mutters timidly from Dean’s right side. He turns to face him and puts his hands behind his head.

“I’m all ears, Cas.”

Castiel frowns, cocking his head to the side at Dean’s use of the nickname. Immediately, Dean tenses up and begins to retract his statement.

“Uh, sorry, it’s  just that Castiel’s a mouthful and I figured someone else might have called you that before and--”

“No, it’s fine,” Castiel cuts him off, a smile beginning to form at the corners of his mouth, “I just hadn’t heard that before. I like it, actually.”

Dean grins, satisfied with the fact that he won’t have to spit out that whole name anymore.

Castiel then goes on to explain his idea about carbon dioxide and the production of acid rain as a result of the use in industrial factories. Dean doesn’t understand a word of it, but he’s sure that if Cas gets it that he can pick it up along the way. He nods his way through all the scientific terms, and before either of them know it, the period is over and Dr. Gaines is dismissing them. He calls out a final reminder as they leave the class, but Dean’s pretty sure that no one paid him any attention.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Cas,” he calls as his partner heads off down the hall, and he receives a shy wave in response. Dean can’t help but find it sort of endearing how bashful this kid is, and smiles at the smallness of the gesture. He’s about to go back to his own locker and rejoin Jo and Gabriel when he sees a bright flash of pink streak past him from the science lab.

“Tessa, wait!”

The girl’s pace wavers, but she doesn’t fully stop. Dean groans and jogs up to her, attempting to keep his step in line with hers. Damn, she’s fast, though.

“Tessa stop,” he begs, “What happened?”

He reaches out to put a steadying hand on her shoulder, but she comes to a startling halt and spins around, her glare cold as ice and boring into his skull. He’s scared for a moment, because he’s never seen that kind of intensity from her before. It’s usually amused, teasing looks, but today it’s a saddening mixture of hurt and rage.

“Look, Dean, I didn’t want to have to say this to you, but back the fuck off.”

Dean’s steps back as she snaps at him, but he doesn’t let it phase him.

“No.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief.

“You can’t say ‘no’, Dean. Just… damnit! Leave me alone!”

“Tessa, stop,” he reaches out to grab her arm, but she pulls back, dropping her books and letting out a frustrated cry. Several people in the hall turn to look at them, but Dean shakes his head and grabs Tessa’s other shoulder.

“You have to stop, Tessa. You can’t just be angry. Tell me what happened.”

The girl shakes her head, scrambling to pick up her papers and books, muttering under her breath. It sounds like the word ‘no’ over and over, but Dean can’t be sure.

“Tessa-”

“NO!” she screams, letting her belongings fall to the ground as the first few tears spill down her cheeks.

Now they have the attention of the entire school, but Dean gives them a glare and bends down to Tessa, who’s breathing has accelerated far past what the safe pace can be. Her cheeks are bright red from stress, and her mouth is twisted in a pained expression. Dean’s heart breaks for her, and he grabs her books as he wraps an arm around her shoulder. Sobbing now, Tessa leans into his touch and doesn’t fuss as he leads her down the hall, away from the judgemental stares of their peers.

Once they break through the doors to the back courtyard, Tessa loses it. She falls to her knees in complete tears, the sobs that rack her body shaking her violently. Dean kneels next to her and pulls her into a tight hug. He can almost feel her sorrow seeping into him, and he squeezes her tighter.

“It’s okay, Tess,” he whispers, but at this point he’s not sure it is. Whatever happened was far worse than he had thought.

Tessa takes a shaky breath and pulls back, not allowing Dean’s green eyes to meet hers.

“Last night…” she whimpers, her voice shaking, “My parents…”

She doesn’t say anything else, but reaches up to the collar of her shirt, pulling it back to reveal a dark purple bruise, roughly the size of a man’s fist. Dean tenses, anger and guilt swirling together in his mind. Her parents had _hit_ her? Because she had a girlfriend?

“Tess,” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“No. I can’t see Charlie anymore. I’m not… I just can’t. Don’t ask me why, Dean, please don’t make me tell you why.”

Dean nods, still wanting to push with the questions but not sure if the poor girl can take much more at this point. All he does is run a hand down her back, attempting to soothe her as another round of sobs shudders through her.

They sit there for god knows how long before Tessa pulls herself together and calmly says her goodbyes. Dean’s reluctant to let her leave, but he sees in her eyes the way she’s begging him to let her be. She can’t be with people for any longer without having another breakdown, and Dean sends her off with a warning to be careful. He’s angry that she has to go home to the people who hurt her, but she has his number and she’ll call him if she needs to. At least he hopes she will. But as he sits in the front seat of his car, staring at the blank screen of his phone only to watch the minutes tick by, she never does.

***

Castiel walks alone down the dreary street that leads from the school to his home. It had rained while they were still in class, and a thin layer of fog clouds the air, making each breath feel like he’s sucking in a rainforest. His sneakers make a faint squishing noise as they skim over the top of each small puddle, and his long sleeve shirt sticking slightly to his skin with the humidity. The boy furrows his eyebrows at the fact that it seems to be so warm for the end of winter; the frost had barely cleared a few weeks ago.

He glances down at the ground, wishing to catch a glimpse of white, but all that’s there is dull green grass, just colourful enough to welcome the spring but still lifeless in the end. Castiel laughs to himself at the thought. It’s kind of like Dean’s eyes. The way there’s hope there, just enough to keep him hanging on, but something’s dead inside… something that has long since broken beyond repair… those eyes…

Castiel shakes his head, scolding himself for getting so caught up on the boy who was obviously not at all his type nor in his league in the slightest. He snaps his head up, focusing on the sidewalk ahead. Just three more blocks to his home. Three more blocks until he can lock himself away for an hour or two and be alone. Until his father returns from work, that is.

***

Sam is unusually quiet in the backseat of the Impala. His gaze is constantly switching between his nervous thumbs and whatever’s out the window, as if there’s something on his mind that’s making it race. Dean’s almost prompted to ask what it is, but he doesn’t dare bring it up, with fear that he could get himself into a girl-talk about Sam’s relationship. No, he had enough of that bullshit to put up with last night.

The car splashes through a water deposit next to the curb as Dean pulls up onto the driveway in front of their house. John’s squad car isn’t parked outside or in the garage, hinting that he’s on call today. Dean sighs, shifts the vehicle into park, and leans back into his seat.

He waits to hear the two clicks as Sam pulls on the door handle, and then finally his brother’s agitated sigh as he realises that Dean’s keeping him locked inside.

“Dean…” he groans, tapping on the glass of the window.

There’s something in his voice that Dean finds odd, a slight lack of the usual brightness that rings in his little brothers words. They seem flat, like a deflated balloon.

He leans back over his seat to get a better look at Sam. His posture is slouched, face pressed against the window as if he’s fallen asleep with his eyes open. The eye that isn’t blocked by the door of the car is clouded and bloodshot, the hazel-green colour masked by a haze of exhaustion.

“Jeez, Sammy, up all night studying again?” Dean jokes, laughing off the worry that’s slowly creeping into his voice.

Sam just groans and tries the door again, unsurprised to find that it’s still bolted shut.

Dean frowns and swallows hard.

“Did… uh… did something happen today, or -”

Dean’s sentence is cut short with the vibration of his phone. He snaps his gaze down to the screen, catching a glimpse just as it lights up with his father’s number. There’s no picture to go with this one, just the default grey face that most of Dean’s contacts have.

He sighs and looks back to Sam, just as he plucks the lock up and stumbles out of the car. Dean tries to call out to stop him, but the door slams in his face before he can get a word out.

Sam trudges up the walkway and fumbles with his keys for a moment, eventually unlocking the door and falling inside.

The worry in Dean’s gut builds even more as he sees his brother so disoriented, but the third vibration of the phone tears him away from that feeling and back to his father.

He picks up the phone.

“Dad?”

“Dean. There’s been an accident a few blocks away from your school. Are you and Sam at home?”

Dean sighs. Not even a ‘hello’.

“Yeah,” he replies, steadied, “we just got back to the house. Do you need anything?”

John seems relieved when Dean answers.

“No, I’ll just be a little late today. I’m on call for this one. Make sure your brother eats something, Dean.”

Dean nods.

“Yes sir.”

There’s no reply from his father before the dial tone sounds, signalling that he’s been hung up on. Dean puts his phone away in his back pocket, opening the door and stepping out of the Impala.

Now he has to worry about Sam _and_ his father.

Peachy.

***

The dark haired boy is halfway up his street when he hears the sound. At first, Castiel isn’t sure what it is. It’s loud and sudden, followed by a rush of air that doesn’t sound like the regular wind. He looks around in front of him for the source, spinning on his heels to check his back. There’s a flash of orange, and goosebumps prickle on his arms and neck. Then he sees it.

The tall pillar of black smoke rising up from the house at the end of his block. His hand immediately goes to his cell phone as he starts running towards the source, fingers scrambling to dial the 911.

His footsteps thud against the ground in time with his racing heart, icy wind rushing around him matching the blood that he can hear in his ears.

Suddenly, there’s a scream. A woman, by the sound of it. Followed by a screech of metal, and someone shouting.

“911, this is Clara, what’s your emergency?”

Castiel whips his head around to see who’s talking to him, before he remembers the phone pressed to his cheek.

“Yes,” he rushed, voice coming out cracked and muddled, “there’s a fire. Some sort of accident.”

The woman replies, calm and collected.

“Yes, where are you located, sir?”

Located? Location. Where is he? Where does he live? His breaths accelerate as he tries to remember his address.

“Um, I think it’s just on the corner of George Crescent and North Michigan, uh, street.”

He rounds the corner, head darting around for the source of the fire. And then he sees it.

Two cars have collided right in the middle of the street; head on, it seems. The far one has burst into flames, obviously the source of the smoke, and the fronts and sides of both cars are bashed in so far you can barely tell they’re not two halves of the same vehicle.

“It’s a car accident,” he says.

“We’ll send the fire and police departments over right away, sir. Please try to remain calm.”

“Thank you,” Castiel breathes, as he disconnects from the line.

But he can’t remain calm. Because the car that’s in flames, the one with the cracked windshield and the unhinged door, the one with the white scratch on the back that’s covered by flames now but Castiel still knows it’s there… That’s his car. His brother’s car.

“Jimmy,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

His heart skips a beat as he searches for some sort of movement in the destruction, tuning out the screams and yelling of all the people coming out of their homes to see the cause of the commotion. Panic rises in his stomach, face blank and rigid as he screams.

“Jimmy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I had this chapter written and then never got around to editing it. But I did now! Huzzah, it's here! Hope you liked it :)


End file.
